


Harry Potter and the Definitions of Family

by DJScott



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - Regulus Black lives (minor plot), Female Friendships, Fix-It, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin Raise Harry Potter, minor/background Sirius/Remus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJScott/pseuds/DJScott
Summary: Raised by his godfather, Sirius, and Sirius' partner, Remus, family to Harry has always included people of no blood relation. The line between friends and family becomes even blurrier once he goes to Hogwarts and starts investigating the mystery of the third floor corridor with new friends and old.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While Regulus being alive (and Sirius and Remus being together) is an important part of the AU premise, it will be quite a while before everything gets explained and that importance becomes apparent. For now, it's a story about Harry, the first year crew and their OC friend.
> 
> They are 11 so no romances as yet and all I'll spoil is that the OC isn't involved in any of them. It's not that I'm against OC/Canon, it's that the character has their own story post-Deathly Hallows.

Harry Potter lived in Number 12, Grimmauld Place. It was an old, musty, dark house in London that his godfather, Sirius Black, inherited when Harry was six. They lived together with Sirius’ partner Remus Lupin as a small, happy family. Once a month, Remus went away to special building to wait out the full moon. He was a werewolf and unable to stop the transformations. Harry minded, but only because his ‘Uncle Moony’ was inescapably sick once a month. He waited at the front door with toast and a morning coffee that was more than half hot-chocolate.

He’d even made the chocolate-y coffee himself, once he’d turned eight. He never cooked, otherwise, except maybe a cheeky sandwich if lunch wasn’t enough. The closet under the stairs was for boxes of his baby things and it never occurred to him that it could serve another purpose. The closest was a closet. His clothes fit and the optomi-witch assured him that his glasses were terribly fashionable. His hair was black and prone to sticking up, so he and his godfather and ‘uncle’ kept it cut short and out of his eyes. With a torch shining on his face and his nose pressed into a mirror, he could see just the very ghost of a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

Sometimes he heard people talk about ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and his notable scar and he always assumed that they matched. Until the day he turned eleven.

“Harry, there’s something we need to tell you,” Remus said. His hair seemed more grey than usual and he was hunched over his cup of tea as if the full moon was that night. It wasn’t. Harry always knew when the full moon was.

Worry tried to color Harry’s birthday cheer, but nothing bad ever happened to his little family, so he just smiled. He folded his hands on the dining table, a mockery of his classroom posture. “I’m adopted.”

Sirius barked a laugh and clapped him on the back. “That’s right, Pronglet. You figured it out.”

Even Remus cracked a smile before putting his hand over Harry’s. “It’s about your parents. And the night they… Died.”

Harry put on his serious face. As opposed to his Sirius face, which Remus wouldn’t have appreciated. “They were killed by You Know Who. Right?”

“That’s right, but you see… He attacked you, too.”

“Like The Boy Who Lived?”

Sirius sat down and it was like all his years crashed to the floor around him. “Harry, son, you  _ are _ The Boy Who Lived.”

Harry blinked, looked between his surrogate parents and blinked again. “I… really? Is that why we have the same scar?”

Remus tried to sigh, but it turned into a laugh, as they usually did. “Yes, that’s why you have the same scar. But this is important. People in the Wizarding World… they think you’re special. That you’re a hero for defeating You Know Who.”

“But The Boy- but I was just a baby. I didn’t defeat anyone.”

Sirius put his hand on his shoulder. “We know. It was your mom’s love that defeated him, but the other kids at Hogwarts might treat you differently.”

“But that’s silly! Lots of their parents were heroes, weren’t they? Lots of people fought You Know Who.”

“That’s right,” Remus said, “but people are silly sometimes. Just be polite and change the subject.”

“Like when an adult says something really rude?”

They smiled at him. “Just like that.” Sirius kissed his forehead and stood up. “So? How about presents?”

Harry opened his presents with undisguised relish. He got the usual clothes and stationary refills, a selection of chocolates (“From Honeydukes, mind!” Remus added.), and a model quidditch set. (“You’ll get a broom next year. It’s too mean to give it to you and not let you take it to school.”)

Remus fiddled with the wheels and levers on the side of the quidditch stadium. “You can set it to replay old World Cup games, if I can just figure this…”

“I told you not to throw away the instructions.”

“You were the one who said it was easy compared to the Map!”

With a grin, Harry ignored their bickering and tore into one of the chocolate bars.

 

—-

 

With his Hogwarts letter clutched in his hand, Diagon Alley felt like a whole, new place. The place at his left felt strangely empty without Julie Fontaine. She was a family friend with long brown hair that shone red in the sun and green eyes that matched his. He was just now realizing that the reason she always went with him to Diagon Alley was to hide the fact that he was  _ the _ Harry, The Boy Who Lived, rather than just Harry.

“Professor Fontaine, Qing-ru and Jules got you this, kiddo,” Sirius said, handing Harry a bright purple envelope that glittered green when it moved.

Harry opened it with eager hands, tearing the envelope and reading the matching card within. Professor Fontaine’s thin, curly script wrote itself across the card as he read.

_ To Mr. Harry James Potter on the event of his 11th birthday. _

_ This certificate may be exchanged for one familiar, companion or working animal from Magical Menagerie _ . _ It is valid until the 1st of August, 1992. _

_ Happy Birthday, Harry. _

Jules’ blocky handwriting came next, large and at something of an angle.

_ Cheers Harry. Papa said you can use Kassandra to send letters, so don’t think you have to get an owl! _

Qing-ru, Jules’ papa, had drawn a red envelope with the Chinese character for “lucky” written in gold dancing across it.

“Be sure to write them a thank you card when we get home,” Remus said.

“Will you help me put a picture in?”

“Of course. Why don’t you and Sirius go pick out a new friend while I get your books?” Remus had to coax the supply list out of Harry’s clenched fist, only managing once it was free from the rest of the Hogwarts letter.

Harry pressed his face to the glass and stared at the toads swimming in the man-sized tanks. Behind them, he could just make out a cage of fancy, black rats running and gamboling.

“You can get a better look inside.” Sirius ushered him inside. 

Like most Diagon Alley shops, it was larger on the inside than it should have been. The walls were lined with cages, all also bigger on the inside, which made his head hurt to look at for too long. Catty-corner to the rats was a tank of M. Rainbow boas, the M meaning magical to separate them from muggle rainbow boas that weren’t actually rainbow colored and didn’t properly glitter in the sunlight. 

They discussed which of the rats to eat first. Harry pretended not to understand, but looked at the rats to see which they were talking about. The consensus was on one they called “Whitefoot,” but most of the rats had at least one white foot, so Harry didn’t know which one they meant.

“The othersss will thank usss,” the largest snake said, inclining her head toward the cage.

“He isss a bully,” another agreed.

After a quick glance to ensure no one was close, Harry leaned in to the snake tank. “I don’t think the shopkeeper will be very happy if you eat him without paying.”

“I will give him an exsstra egg nexsst clutch,” the largest one said, bobbing her head up and down in snake laughter.

Harry muffled his laugh and went deeper into the shop. Kittens were separated into large, wooden crates lined with tattered pillows. Tabbies and Siamese and snowshoes all stared up at him with eyes more intelligent than any muggle house cat. There were kneazle-hybrids, but just looking at their long fur made his nose itch. 

“Ouch, you little-“ Sirius’ voice was cut off by the tinkling bells from Remus’ anti-swearing charm. A large, black cat was wrapped around his ankle, claws out, and chewing on Sirius’ boot. “Let go, you-“ More bells.

Harry picked up the cat with both arms and he started purring immediately. He even licked the underside of Harry’s chin before looking up at Sirius with all the smugness of an entire box of kittens. “I want this one. I can tell he’ll get along with Padfoot.”

“Don’t you dare,” Sirius said. He nursed his ankle through his robes.

They left the shop with Sirius carrying Leo in a wicker picnic basket. He opened the door to Madam Malkin’s for Harry and groaned audibly. Harry glanced around, but there was only an assistant helping a blond boy about his own age.

“Hogwarts, dear?”

“Yes!” Still clutching his much-abused letter, he jumped forward. 

The blond boy looked over his shoulder at them. He twisted his boy-smooth face into a ghost of a sneer. “Cousin.” The title dripped with disdain and scorn that splashed awkwardly onto his grass-stained trainers.

“Good afternoon, Draco.” The words came out like shards of glass. “How are Cissy and your father?”

Draco straightened his posture, heedless of how it disturbed the tailor’s work. He sniffed, but instead of coming across as imperious, he got snot stuck and had to sniff several more times in awkward succession. “Mother and Father are well, thank you.” He jerked his chin in Harry’s direction. “Who’s that?”

“My godson, Harry Po-“

“Harry Potter!”

Harry watched Draco’s face twist between shocked and mean expressions in the mirror. That wasn’t what he’d expected when Remus said people might treat him strangely. He’d vaguely known Draco existed and would go to Hogwarts with him.  _ So much for being friends… _

“Erm, nice to meet you, Draco.” Harry waved at his reflection in the mirror, doing his best not to disturb Madam Malkin.

“Nice to meet you.” He sounded as grudging as the apothecary when they ordered the ingredients for Remus’ Wolfsbane potion.

Silence took over the shop. Sirius sat in one of the mismatched chairs with the cat in his lap. He kept sticking his fingers inside, even though from his flinches, Leo was scratching them. When his cousin appeared at the door, he poured sugar over his expression and simpered, “Afternoon, Cissy.”

“Sirius,” Narcissa Malfoy replied. She spat the name between them and turned up her nose at her cousin. “It was so generous of Regulus to reinstate you into the family.”

Sirius just grinned at her.

She paid her bill and ushered Draco out.

“Can we get Fortescue’s before we leave?” Harry asked into the silence.

Sirius laughed. “I don’t think Remus will let us leave without it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Clover, a white and orange cat with a green bell collar, had her head and shoulders inside of Leo’s basket. She panted, looked over her shoulder at Jules, meowed, and then stuck her head back in.

Harry laughed. They were sitting alone in a train compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Students milled outside the windows, calling greetings and goodbyes. Sirius and Remus stood next to Professor Fontaine and Qing-ru, all four men wearing muggle clothes and sunglasses, as if that would hide the presence of a professor on the platform from the students. Older kids, fifth or seventh years, kept walking up and asking questions.

“Your dad shoulda put an illusion on his hair if he didn’t want to be bothered.”

Jules glanced out the window and waved. Her father had waist-length, bright red hair tied back with a series of silver clips. Though Jules’ was a completely different shade of red, she wore it the same way, the silver shining bright next to her brown skin. She pulled Clover out of Leo’s basket and stroked her back. “He doesn’t really mind it. He likes to be needed and gets grumpy when I ask Papa for everything.”

The compartment door slid open and a boy with hair as red and bright as Professor Fontaine’s stuck his head in. “Erm, can I sit with you? Everywhere else is full.”

Harry took Leo’s basket off the seat and put it on the floor between his and Jules’ feet. “Sure!”

“Thanks.” The boy shuffled in and shut the door after himself. He scrubbed his nose with the rough sleeve of his robes. “I’m Ron Weasley.”

“Harry.”

“Julie,” she said with an exaggerated French accent, “but everyone calls me Jules.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ron looked between them and said, “I’ve got a sister… And five brothers.”

“Nice to meet you,” they chorused.

Clover walked across Jules’ lap and onto Ron’s. She sniffed him and then licked him from collarbone to chin before giving several staccato meows. She wagged her tail.

“Is there something wrong with your cat?”

“Nope.”

“Not a thing.”

“I don’t believe you. That’s exactly the expression Fred and George always use before something turns into a spider.”

Jules pouted and pulled Clover into her lap. “Clover isn’t a spider.”

“She’s a dog.”

“Harry!”

“What? But dogs aren’t allowed!” Ron gave Clover a wounded look, but when she shot back with puppy eyes, he caved and petted her head. “The teachers are going to notice and you’re going to get in trouble.”

“Well…” Jules pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Dad is a professor?”

“And he lets you break the rules?”

“He and Papa are going to live at Hogwarts this year, since I’m there, so it’s not like we could just leave Clover in London. The illusion is just so other students don’t get jealous.”

Clover wagged her tail, walked in a tight circle on Jules’ lap and then laid down. She panted happily at Ron.

He frowned at her. “No one’s going to believe she’s a cat.”

Harry expected her to challenge him to a bet, but Jules just laughed. “Probably not, but that’s the deal he made with the Headmaster.”

They chatted about their summers, comparing lingering quidditch bruises and old scars. Jules had the biggest with a diagonal line across her belly from falling out of a tree, but Ron had the coolest with a collection of scarred dots that made up the Pleiades. He refused to explain how he’d got them, but he muttered darkly about the twins. Harry’s forehead scar was all but ignored.

The compartment opened again and a girl with bushy brown hair peeked in. “Have any of you seen a toad? Neville’s lost his.”

“No, we haven’t,” Harry said.

“If you go to the last compartment, the prefects are having a meeting. One of them can do a Summoning Spell for you,” Jules said.

Ron groaned. “Yeah… My brother Percy can do it for you.”

“Thanks!”

Harry and Jules proceeded to grill Ron about his siblings. Bill was the eldest and worked as a cursebreaker for Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. Next was Charlie, who was a dragon tamer in Romania. Jules and Clover both leaned in towards Ron with matching expressions, hanging on every word.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?”

Jules and Harry pulled coins out of their pockets and cupped their hands together. “We’ll have two chocolate frogs, two licorice wands and… What do you want, Ron?”

“Er, it’s fine.”

“Papa will be cross if I don’t share. What do you want?”

“Some Bertie Bott’s?”

They passed the money over, splitting the change evenly and clutching their candy. Ron stared at the box in his lap and made no move to open it. “Thanks… You didn’t have to.”

“It’s only fair,” Harry said. “Did your dads pack you lunch, Jules?”

“Yeah!” She pulled a bag out from under her seat and dug through it with Clover’s nose in the way.

“Wait, _her_ dads? I thought you guys were siblings?” Ron squeezed the box in his hands, bending the cardboard, as he looked between them with more interest.

“No, she’s Julie Fontaine,” Harry tried to mimic her bad French accent, but only managed to say her name correctly. Remus’ lesson stuck a little too hard, for once. “And I’m Harry Potter, but sometimes adults are weird about it.”

Ron opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something weird, and shut it with a click. He looked away, hiding his face behind his shoulder, and pulled out a paper bag. He sighed at the contents. “Mum forgot and packed me corned beef again.”

“I’ve never had corned beef before.”

“You haven’t?” Harry asked.

“Papa doesn’t like beef, so we don’t eat it much.” Jules shrugged and turned to Ron, holding out a paper parcel. “I have sweet barbecue pork buns, if you want to trade?”

Ron looked between his sandwich and the paper parcel before holding it out. He sniffed the white breading and cautiously took a bite. He then devoured the rest of it in a single bite. He started on the second before Jules even had the sandwich in hand. Harry picked a second packet out of Jules’ bag and started in on it. He knew Qing-ru would have sent enough for five or six people.

“So you have two dads?” Ron asked around his mouthful.

“Yeah, Dad went to China after World War II and met Qing-ru when he was building schools and stuff.” Jules ate Ron’s sandwich with one hand and dug through her bag with the other. She pulled out a stack of round, Chinese tea cups and set them on the bench between herself and Ron.

Harry took one and flipped it while she grabbed a thermos of tea. It looked like a muggle version, but kept liquids piping hot and poured a near-infinite amount of tea. He gestured to the stack with his cup. “It’s green tea, if you want some Ron.”

Jules held the sandwich in her teeth while she filled everyone’s cups. The painted designed swirled around the outside with the heat and tea level. They talked about Harry and Jules pretending to be siblings to hide his identity and speculated about what Jules’ birth father might look like in order for her to look so similar to Harry. Professor Fontaine had pale skin and almost Weasley-red hair, where Jules’ coloring was much darker.

“Well what does your mum look like?”

“Like Dad, I guess. She thought photography was too regular. I think there’s a painting of Aunt Linora in the Chateau and they looked alike.”

“Too regular?”

“She means too muggle,” Harry explained. Even growing up visiting them regularly, it was still strange. “Professor Fontaine doesn’t like that word and doesn’t let anyone use it.”

Ron lost his eyebrows in his hairline. “Really?”

The compartment door slammed open before either of them could respond. Draco Malfoy stood there, flanked by two larger boys. “Harry Potter. I had hoped you would have found better company for the trip. He’s a Weasley, of course.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Malfoy.”

“Oh! Don’t run off in a huff yet, Draco.” Jules pulled Clover out of her bag and stuck her arm down to the shoulder. She shoved items around with a grunt. “Uncle Reggie sent this for you.”

Despite being at the bottom of her bag, or did it even have a bottom?, the ribbon and paper on the box were unwrinkled. Draco took it with an upturned nose, picking at the ribbon with no intention of opening it. “Why wouldn’t he owl it to me?”

“You know he wants us to be friends.”

Draco shoved the gift into the hands of one of his followers. “Fat chance, Julie. Come on, Crabbe, Goyle. You know where to find me, if you come to your senses, Potter.”

“Have fun trying to avoid the head of Slytherin’s daughter!” Jules called after him. The compartment shut with a clang of metal and rattling of glass. Jules crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

It had been the wrong thing to say.

All color drained from Ron’s face and his half-eaten box of Berties fell to the compartment floor. He turned his entire body towards her. He would have towered over Harry, but Jules had her father’s height. Well, uncle’s. Father uncle. Remus always added “But not in the Hamlet way” when he said that, but Harry didn’t know what that meant.

“Your dad is head of _Slytherin_?”

Jules’ cheeks flushed and fire burned in her eyes. “Do you want a list of evil people from the other houses?”

“If there are few enough of them to list, that says it all, doesn’t it?”

Clover growled and Jules raised her fist. The compartment door opened just as they were coming aiming their blows.

“Thanks Weasley, your brother found- Oh! Is everything… Alright?”

Harry smiled. “We were just discussing inter-house politics.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The changes are rolling out! Feel free to speculate on the sorting. I had fun with it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sorting goes as expected.
> 
> ...Mostly.

A hush fell over the Great Hall as the First Years walked in. Professor Fontaine and Qing-ru waved and smiled from the head table. On one side of Harry, Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired muggleborn from the train, stared at the ceiling and commented on the enchantment. Harry couldn’t look away from the old hat that sat on a three-legged stool. Sirius had never told him how students were sorted. How was a hat supposed to decide for them?

When the brim split and it started singing, Harry had more questions, not fewer. He glanced at Jules. Her neutral, “noble,” blank expression was replaced with narrowed eyes and lips curled into a sneer. Whether or not she knew how it worked, she didn’t like it.

Abbot, Hannah, was sorted first. Professor McGonagall set the hat on her head and after a moment the brim shouted “Hufflepuff!”

The hat barely touched Jules’ head before saying Slytherin in a tone that sounded resigned, though Harry couldn’t be sure under the cheers from the Slytherin table. Older students nodded politely to her as she joined their table.

Granger went to Gryffindor, as did a chubby boy named Neville Longbottom. Harry expected Draco Malfoy to instantly join Slytherin, but the hat lingered on the decision, tilting on Draco’s head. Finally, he went to the far table and before long it was Harry’s turn.

“Hello my boy; it’s nice to finally meet you. What do we have here?” The hat spoke directly into his mind, though the brim moved as it were speaking properly. “You have the potential to do well in any house, but it would be a shame to separate you from-“

“Not Slytherin,” Harry formed the words as clearly as he could in his head.

“No? You are fond of Professor Fontaine and Julie.”

“I don’t want to be Jules’ friend anymore. No, I do, but not like- I want to be Harry. Not Jules’ friend Harry. Just Harry.”

“Mmm, in that case, better be GRYFFINDOR!”

Black spots danced in front of Harry’s eyes as he walked to the cheering table. It was nearly deafening, with two red heads that had to be Ron’s older twin brothers chanting “We got Potter!” When he sat, Professor Fontaine gave him a wink and a thumbs up, as if he’d heard the conversation with the Sorting Hat.

The rest of the sorting passed in a blur. Ron sat next to him and clapped him on the back. When the feast appeared, air whooshed out of Harry’s lungs in a burst. He had a mouthful of bread before he really saw the food in front of him. “I should write Sirius and Remus,” he muttered to himself.

Ron filled his plate as if the food would disappear as quickly as it had appeared. Once he was satisfied, he shoved it into his face only slightly slower than Remus the day after the full moon. “Good riddance. Fontaine can stay with the other Slytherins.”

“Hey!” Harry nearly dropped his fork. “Jules is still my best friend.”

The Weasley twins appeared at Ron’s shoulders. “Don’t talk bad about Fontaine, Ronnie.”

“He hears everything.”

“And he doesn’t take guff from anyone-“

“-Regardless of house.”

“He goes after other Professors, even.”

Harry blinked at them. “He does? But he’s so nice!”

“Nice?”

“Nice!”

“No, no, Young Potter.”

“Professor Fontaine is many things-“

“Clever-”

“Handsome-”

“Powerful-”

“Wise-”

“Fair-“

“But not nice.” The twin bowed. “I am Fred Weasley, at your service.”

“And I am George.”

“Try not to mess it up,” they said in unison.

“Erm, nice to meet you.” Harry shook their hands in turn, only getting a little gravy on them. “I guess I’ll see what he’s like in class. I’ve spent a lot of time at his house.”

Hermione elbowed Fred to keep him from encroaching on her space even as she leaned in closer to Harry. “I’d love to know what the professors are like at home.”

“I only know Professor Fontaine. I don’t think Qing-ru is working; he’s just living here since there’s no reason to stay in London.” Harry quickly shoveled food in his mouth. It was nice that they weren’t asking about his parents or how he “defeated” You-Know-Who, but he was hungry.

“Who’s Qing-ru?” Fred said, butchering the pronunciation. The twins barked his name at each other until they were close enough.

“Must be the Asian bloke sitting next to him.”

“He must be Professor Fontaine’s partner, since Fontaine has two dads,” Ron said. The words dropped out of his mouth like gravel.

“Just call her Jules! It’s going to get confusing.”

Ron stared him down, looking like he was going to refuse, but then he sighed. “Fine. He must be Jules’ other dad. ...He made really good… What were those things called? Meat buns?”

“Pork buns, yeah,” Harry said.

The twins shoved Neville Longbottom and a dark skinned first year named Dean Thomas await from the opposite side of the table and leaned across the platters to Harry. 

“So what’s it like, being The Boy Who Lived?”

“And where’s your scar?”

Harry sighed. More than half the table was eavesdropping with varying degrees of subtlety. “Okay, but I’m only doing this once. Tomorrow I’m just Harry, okay?”

—-

At breakfast the next morning, Kassandra flew down to perch on the edge of the table next to Harry. She dropped a piece of parchment and a fountain pen with a feather clip. Professor Fontaine’s elegant handwriting said, “Dear Sirius and Remus,” at the top. Harry laughed and handed Kassandra a strip of bacon and scribbled a quick summary of the train ride and sorting.

Hermione was a few seats down with a large book open in front of her as she nibbled on a piece of jammy toast. Ron joined them a few minutes later, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Harry tied the letter to Kassandra’s leg. “To Sirius and Remus, please.”

She cooed at him and flew up and out of one of the high windows.

“Good morning, Ron.”

“G’morning.” He yawned again and melted onto the bench. His twin brothers appeared with a crash of cymbals, at least, the sound of them. He winced and pressed his face against the jug of pumpkin juice.

“Good morning, Firsties!”

“Up and at ‘em!”

Harry turned away from them, biting into a scone. He glanced over at the head table. Professor Dumbledore was in the middle with Professor McGonagall on his right. To her right was Professor Fontaine. Qing-ru was missing, probably doing his morning tai-chi, then there were two professors he didn’t recognize. One had long, greasy, black hair that hung in thick hanks around his face and made his large nose seem even larger and more hooked than it probably was. He looked off to the side, seemingly desperate for the man next to him to stop talking. The other man was covered in scars, missing at least two fingers that Harry could see and had thick bandages wrapped around his head with only small tufts of hair sticking out from odd places.

“Who are those two Professors?” Harry asked.

“Well the slimy one is Snape,” one of the twins said.

“He teaches Potions.”

“And Professor Kettleburn is the one talking at him. He teaches Care of Magical Creatures!”

“He went on a sojourn to Albania over the summer holidays to try and track down a rare creature.”

“We can’t wait to see what it is.”

Something about the two professors made Harry uneasy, though he couldn’t put his finger on what. His mother had loved Potions, so he hoped he was just imagining things.

As older students started to leave the table, anxiety filled Harry. He didn’t know where any of his classes were, let alone which one he was supposed to go to. With worse table manners than Padfoot, he finished his breakfast. Professor McGonagall came to the rescue, hanging out time tables and explaining that Percy, the fifth year prefect, would escort them to their classes that day.

When Percy arrived to take them, it looked like he’d managed to press his robes, probably with magic, and his prefect badge glittered more than Harry thought it should. He lead through the hallways, explaining which staircases would move and which steps to skip - not that Harry would remember any of it. He saw Hermione making notes on a wrinkled piece of parchment and decided to ask if he could copy it later.

Outside a classroom on the fourth floor, Percy stopped them. “You are not to be late to any of your classes, but Professors Fontaine, McGonagall and Snape are particularly strict. Ensure you arrive on time and do not cost us points.” He nodded firmly, probably meeting some exact angle in his head, and then left. 

Harry stepped inside and found the Slytherins already waiting. They sat neatly in half of the room, except for Malfoy and Jules, who were parked in the front left corner, glaring at each other and all but bristling with magic. Jules caught Harry’s gaze, jerked her thumb at Malfoy and rolled her eyes. 

His desire to sit next to his friend warred with his desire to not sit in the front. He ended up sitting behind Jules, with Ron behind Malfoy. The rest of his classmates filed in, Hermione and a girl named Lavender Brown sitting in the front with a single empty seat remaining in front of the Slytherins. 

Professor Fontaine swept into the classroom, the door shutting magically behind him. He  _ did _ bristle with magic: little stars trailing from the silver clips in his hair. He spread his arms wide. “Welcome to your first class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

A piece of parchment appeared on each desk. “That is your class syllabus. It lists major assignments, my grading rubric and my office hours for the fall term. There are no excuses for doing poorly in my class. The moment you encounter difficulty, I expect you to come to my office hours for a solution. Knowing how to learn is as important as learning itself and I expect most of you from magical families lack proper study skills.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. He knew Professor Fontaine wasn’t a blood purist, but he hadn’t expected him to call out purebloods. He glanced at the Slytherins. Draco’s two large friends looked confused. One turned the paper diagonally, as if to read it better. A black-haired boy with sallow skin and a tight face was visibly displeased, a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows. But no one complained.

Professor Fontaine continued. “I can only work with you on your studies if you give me the opportunity, so ensure that you do.” He smiled, but it wasn’t the cheerful, joyous smile Harry was used to. His mouth was too wide and his eyes too narrow. He looked like Sirius just after he’d set a trap for Remus. “But it’s your first day. Let’s have some demonstrations.”

He raised his arms and ice shot out of the floor along every wall, forming solid barricades against the windows and door. The classroom was dim without sunlight and Professor Fontaine’s teeth glowed unnaturally. “Do not worry; you’re perfectly safe.”

And then fire shot from the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first thoughts on the sorting had Harry go to Slytherin, but once I let the scene play out, he wasn't having it, which made a lot of other things easier for me than they were going to be.
> 
> You can wonder why the hat didn't instantly put Malfoy in Slytherin. It'll come up eventually(tm), but don't hold your breath.
> 
> Please let me know what you think so far. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REVOLUTION

At dinner, Clover trotted under the Gryffindor table with a note attached to her collar. Jules’ handwriting was neat, even and implied some Slytherins had been watching her write it.

_ Meet me in the library tonight after dinner. We can catch up! _

Clover meowed and licked his ankle before disappearing in the Great Hall. Harry showed the note to Ron. “It’s Jules. Do you want to come?”

Ron’s face went through the seven stages of grief. He said nothing and just shook his head. Hermione leaned across the table. “Jules Fontaine? Can I come? Her father is  _ fascinating.  _ I’m planning to go to his office hours on Saturday.”

“You can come, but she might not wanna talk about her dad.” Harry’s words did nothing to discourage Hermione, who finished her dinner all-but bouncing in her seat. It was like he’d invited her to go to the Quidditch Cup finals. Harry set down his fork. “Hey Ron, isn’t the Quidditch World Cup going to be here in a few years?”

“Yes!” He threw both hands into the air. “The Cannons don’t stand a chance, of course, but they’ll be here! Dad says that sometimes the Ministry can get discounted tickets, so I might get to go.” He stared dreamily at nothing with his chin propped on both hands.

“I read that the participating countries always bring a magical creature native to their lands when they compete,” Hermione said. Her bouncing had somewhat abated.

Harry let Ron do all of the talking, running through a list of countries and their mascots, though he did chime in to say that Mongolia was a Wind Horse. Wind Horses were Qing-ru’s favorite creatures and he had several paintings of them up in their house. Remus had gotten one from him for Christmas. 

Harry finished his dinner listening to them, but he wasn’t even halfway through his pudding when Hermione started bouncing hard enough to upset their cups. With a sigh, he wrapped a few biscuits in a napkin and stood. He glanced at the Slytherin table, but Jules was already gone.

He let Hermione lead him to the library from a page of handwritten instructions. Jules sat alone at a table with Clover laid down next to her books. At the next table over, Draco Malfoy sat pretending not to care what Jules was up to. Pretending because he kept glancing at her and sniffing and going back to his homework. Which was a piece of parchment with a single line written on it. 

Hermione rushed past him and dropped her book bag on a chair with a loud thunk. “Hi, I don’t think we were properly introduced on the train. I’m Hermione Granger.”

Jules shook Hermione’s hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Julie Fontaine, but everyone calls me Jules.”

Hermione leaned in until their noses were practically touching. “ _ Do you speak French? _ ”

Harry groaned and sat next to Hermione.

“ _ Of course. English is my third language. _ ”

“Oh, that’s brilliant!  _ My French is a little out of practice.  _ Mum and Dad thought I wasn’t going to need it in magic school, but we are planning a Holiday in France.”

“Wait, then what’s your first language?” Harry asked before he got stuck speaking French the whole night.

Jules blinked at him. “Cantonese. Well, my dialect is so thick it might as well be its own language, though Papa did teach me ‘proper’ Cantonese, too.” She made quotes with her fingers and rolled her eyes. “He can’t decide if he wants to preserve the rural dialect or not, so I get mixed up sometimes, but Chinese people just assume it’s my French accent.”

“Have you ever been to China?”

Harry let them talk and pulled out his Defense textbook. Professor Fontaine had chosen  Applications of Beginner’s Spells for Defense . The author was listed as S. K. Moon, but it was actually written by Remus under a pen name. No one wanted to buy books from a werewolf, but S. K. Moon was perfectly alright. Their homework was to write the best notes they could on the first chapter. Harry had a hard time reading it without hearing Remus’ voice. He’d been seven when Remus first wrote it, pacing around Grimmauld Place reciting passages over and over with slightly different phrasing until he was satisfied. 

His eyes crossed trying to focus. When he’d heard it a million times, it was difficult to pay attention. His writing on the parchment was horrendous: the letters varied in size and some lines angled down while others angled up and threatened to overlap. He hoped Professor Fontaine wouldn’t tell Remus.

Hermione dropped a three-inch, muggle binder on the table, startling Clover, who meowed and jumped to the floor. She flipped to a section with a blue tab. “I already took notes on the first chapter. Do you think I should copy these onto parchment or make new notes?” Before Jules could answer, she had her textbook open on the table. “I’ll just take new notes. Maybe I missed something.”

Jules met Harry’s eyes over the table and bot smothered giggles with their hands. She cleared her throat and fought to keep a straight face. “Dad doesn’t mind regular paper. The lines are nice.”

Hermione wrote with one hand and held her chin with the other. “I think in Victorian times they had cards they put behind the paper to keep their lines straight. I could do that.”

“There’s a spell for that.” Jules tapped her wand on Hermione’s parchment and light blue lines traced themselves across the paper.

“Oh!” Hermione rubbed her finger across the lines, but they didn’t smudge. “What spell is that?”

“Uh…” Jules looked at her wand, as if it could tell her the incantation. She laughed and rubbed the back of her head, messing up her hair. “I don’t remember.”

“I do.” Harry drew his wand, well, his mother’s wand, and demonstrated. “You have to swing your wand straight to the paper. If you want them to go up and down, just turn the paper. And you say ‘Linean Praxicas.’” He did the spell on his own parchment, which just made his writing look worse. Sheepish, he cancelled it with a quiet ‘Finite.’ “There’s one for circles, but Remus said you really only need it for advanced arithmancy, so I didn’t learn it.”

“Papa uses that one in his paintings sometimes. Well, the Chinese version. The lines come out more green.” Jules wiggled her fingers.

Hermione practiced a few times. The louder she said the incantation, the darker the lines were and if she wiggled her wand they came out as zigzags. After several perfect attempts she slumped over her parchment, her lips pursed in a pout. “It’s not fair that you guys know so much from having magical families.”

Harry thought it had more to do with Professor Fontaine being her dad and Remus being his guardian, but before he could think of a nice way to say that, Jules said, “You’re right. It’s not. Just like it’s not fair that Ron has to use old books and tattered robes and have just one sandwich for the whole train ride.”

Emerald fire burned in Jules’ eyes and she looked ten feet tall with her perfect posture and imperious stare. She slammed her fist on the table and it seemed to echo against the shelves of books. “That’s why we have to make friends and share and teach each other until everything is fair.”

Hermione met her fervor, her curly hair flaring out like a giant halo. “Yes! Exactly! And we make people stop calling others mudbloods just for having muggle relatives!”

“Or even use the word muggle at all!”

With a loud groan that neither girl heard, Harry hit his forehead against the table. As much as he liked Jules, he hated listening to the Fontaine Wordsbane Campaign, as Sirius called it with a cheeky laugh. Nothing could get Professor Fontaine ranting like people trying to make him use the word muggle and Harry, suddenly, desperately, hoped that it wasn’t going to come up at Hogwarts as much as it had at home.

Madam Pince, the pinch-faced librarian, kicked them out ten minutes before curfew. She made Hermione and Harry repeat back the directions to Gryffindor tower, but Jules disappeared down a set of narrow stairs before her turn. Hermione clutched her plastic binder to her chest as they walked back. “I hope Jules knows the way back to her common room.”

“She lived in the castle when she was really little,” Harry said with a shrug. “Professor Fontaine has been here since my parents were in school.”

“He knew your parents?” Hermione hesitated. “Did he have a lot of stories to tell you?”

Harry was thankful Ron had very loudly repeated his comment about ‘people are normally weird about it’ at the table during the feast. Most of their housemates got the hint and didn’t ask about You-Know-Who or his parents’ deaths or the barely-there scar on his forehead. “Only class stuff, really. Remus and Sirius’ brother were the only ones he knew personally before… You know.”

“And Remus is your godfather’s partner, right?”

“Yeah. Jules’ dads are married, though.”

“I wish in the muggle- in the normal world that-“ Hermione sighed. “I just get so mad about Alan Turing.”

Harry didn’t know who that was or how he was related to Jules’ dads being married, but he nodded anyway. “You can always change it when you get older. Go to a muggle university, become a lawyer or something.”

Hermione froze mid-step. Stiff, like she’d been hit with a weak stupefy, she turned to him. “I can do that?”

He shrugged. “As long as you don’t use magic on anyone, I don’t see why not.”

She started walking with a fresh burst of energy, but said nothing. They made it to the tower in silence, broken only by Harry’s yawns and the sounds of gears turning in Hermione’s head. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Hermione seemed like the kind of person who didn’t let ideas stay ideas.

But then, so were a lot of people in his life and it had only gotten Sirius into a little trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry may live to regret introducing Jules and Hermione. 🤔


	5. Chapter 5

The next class the Gryffindors shared with the Slytherins was Potions. Both houses waited in the hall outside of the classroom. Jules and Hermione spoke loud, as much at each other, as too each other, mostly discussing Transfiguration. Jules kept bringing in a Slytherin girl she called Tracey - Harry couldn’t remember her surname - and Pavarti chimed in from Hermione’s shoulder. What started as a conversation about transfiguration quickly shifted to… beauty products? He wasn’t sure, but some of the words sounded like the labels on Sirius’ bathroom things.

Silence swept down the hall like a wave in front of Professor Snape. He sneered at both groups of students, but the sight of the girls mixing together brought his upper lip so far up in disdain that Harry could see his nose hair. The classroom door opened with a wave of his hand, but after Professor Fontaine’s elemental show, it seemed mundane. The girls sat in a cluster on the right side of the room, leaving everyone else to fill in awkwardly around them.

A hush settled over the students, but it felt like a thin blanket over interesting conversation, rather than the professor stealing their attention. Professor Snape glared over his hooked nose and then gave a speech about the dangers of potions. Hardly compelling after a lecture on Dark curses that made blood turn to acid in the veins of the victim. At least a potion required swallowing, or at least poor handling. A potion couldn’t shoot out of the darkness unless it was coupled with a Dark spell.

Snape’s eyes narrowed at his unmoved students. He snapped his fingers and a parchment appeared in his hands. He proceeded to call roll, slathering over the old pure blood surnames as if they were the sweetest desserts and spitting out muggle ones like they were shell fragments in his escargot. Harry didn’t like escargot. It tasted like salty butter with the texture of snot, but Snape probably did. Where else did all of the grease in his hair come from?

“Ah, Harry Potter. Our new celebrity.”

Harry said the word ‘present’ as neutrally as he could.

The professor scoffed, but continued through the rest of the names. The parchment disappeared with a careless flick of his wrist. “I trust that you all read ahead in your textbooks.”

No one said a word, though if the others were anything like Harry, there was resentment, not fear in their eyes.

Snape slapped his hand against his desk. With the crashing sound, a potion recipe appeared on the board behind him. “Well? Get on with it!”

Hermione glanced at the board for only a second before pulling out her notes. Jules converted the lined, muggle paper into parchment with a murmured spell and then prepared her cauldron. Years of living with two ‘Marauders’ made Harry smell a trap. If Sirius had been teaching the class, one of the instructions would be wrong, just to see if Harry was paying attention.

After checking with his textbook, there wasn’t a trap, but Snape’s spidery handwriting would have had him use the wrong temperature and maybe messed up the quill timing. He glanced over his shoulder at Neville. The other boy had given his matchstick ant legs in transfiguration; it wasn’t impossible to think he’d mess up his potion. He tapped Parvati’s shoulder, who tapped Hermione’s. He pointed at Neville.

Hermione made a copy of her notes and passed it under the table to Tracey from Slytherin. Tracey was just holding it out to Ron when Snape swooped down on them like a bat. He snatched the parchment in a claw-like hand. He held it out in front of him, as if he were about to read a speech, but the paper burst into flames once he realized what it was. 

“One point from Slytherin. There will be no passing of notes, of any kind, in my classroom. I expect better from you, Miss Davis.”

Tracey Davis went pink in the face, her lips pressed together in a firm line. But she didn’t try to pass the blame onto Hermione or anyone else. Harry looked at Neville again, who was slightly green around the gills. He hoped Lavender Brown would be able to keep him from any major mistakes.

—-

Harry rubbed the back of his arm. Neville hadn’t melted his cauldron, though his potion had sparked and spat enough to burn Harry through his robes. Madam Pomfrey had healed the burn and repaired his robes with two taps of her wand, but Neville wasn’t so lucky, destined to spend their first free afternoon in the hospital wing. He sat with Ron in the grass overlooking the Black Lake. Hermione was regaling Pavarti and Lavender with some story that required a lot of arm waving and pointing to things in one of their textbooks. Seamus and Dean were supposedly kicking a football around in one of the courtyards.

“Do you know how to fly?” 

Harry turned his head around at the question. “Yeah? Sirius says I’ve been riding kid brooms since I was a year old.”

“He doesn’t think it’s too dangerous? Mum only just let me start practicing and Gin, my little sister, still isn’t allowed.” Ron shrugged. “Since you’re, you know-”

“Don’t say ‘important.’ I’m just a regular kid. Kind of stupid, too. I didn’t even know I was The Boy Who Lived until my eleventh birthday.” Harry’s mouth twisted into a grimace. He tapped his forehead. “I knew he had a big scar, but not what his name was.”

Ron leaned back on both of his palms, his elbows locked to support his weight. “You know, that’s kinda stupid itself. We’re wizards. Why would we let the ‘savior’ of the wizarding world have a giant scar? To make him easier to spot?”

“Professor Fontaine said it used to have a nasty curse.” Harry beckoned to Leo, but his cat turned only one ear toward him before stalking off into a bush.

“Not Sirius?”

“Well, Professor Fontaine is the one that fixed it. Sirius asked his brother, he was in Slytherin, and Uncle Reggie asked Professor Fontaine. If not for that… Well, I’d probably have thought the same thing about his family as you.” Harry picked at the grass.

“I wrote Mum. She said good Slytherins are never proud of their house… But they exist.”

“Professor Fontaine thinks the houses are stupid, too. He doesn’t get as fired up as he does about the word ‘muggle,’ but I’m sure you can get Jules to give you speech.”

Ron stuck out his tongue and made a gagging noise. “No thanks.”

He laughed. “It gets old fast. Remus is really good at changing the subject once they get going. He said that the only reason Dumbledore hired him was to keep him from battering down the door to the ministry everyday with complaints.”

Ron’s laughed was cut with a sputter. He pointed down to a small, wooden hut where a humongous man chopping wood.“Bloody hell, who’s that?”

“That’s Hagrid. He’s a half-giant and the groundskeeper here. He knew my dad and Sirius and Remus. Helped them with a few pranks.”

“Knew your dad? Do you want to… talk to him? Or do you wanna wait for Jules?”

Harry stood and shook his head furiously. “Definitely not wait for Jules. Her dad  _ hates _ Hagrid. Sirius won’t let him say a cross word in front of me, so I all know is that they went to school together.”

Ron followed Harry down the hill to the wooden hut, eyes wide. “Sounds wild. Think he’ll tell you since Sirius isn’t here?”

“Prolly not. He’d say it was bad form to speak ill of a coworker.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Slytherins.”

Harry shoved him and they both laughed. The half-giant set down his axe as they approached.

“‘Ello there. Are ya lost? I’m Hagrid. Keeper of the Grounds and Keys ‘ere at Hogwarts.” He bowed, his long, curly, absolutely wild hair brushing the ground and picking up a few leaves.

Harry extended his hand. “Harry Potter. This is my friend Ron Weasley. Sirius said you knew him and my dad when they were in school?”

Hagrid’s hand swallowed his in a shake before moving on to Ron’s. “That’s righ’, I did! Real troublemakers, your pa and his friends. Would ya boys like to come in for some tea and rock cakes? I’ll tell ya all about it.”

“It would be our pleasure,” Harry said.

Hagrid clapped his hands together to knock off dirt and then opened the door to his hut. Harry and Ron surreptitious rubbed their hands off on their robes and entered after him. A dog scaled to Hagrid’s size rushed forward and sniffed and snuffled Harry from shoulder to toe.

“He probably smells Clover.”

“Clover? Ya mean Professor Fontaine’s little dog?” Hagrid stuttered in his movements and nearly dropped his kettle. “I shouldntna said that.” He cleared his throat. “Professor Fontaine ‘as a little orange cat. That’s all.”

Ron snorted. “We met Clover on the train. She’s obviously a dog.”

“Alrigh’, but don’t you going telling anyone else. Professor Fontaine’s a good man and I don’t want ‘im and his little girl losing their dog.” Hargrid turned his back to them to prepare the teapot.

Ron looked and Harry and mouthed, ‘But he hates him?’

Harry could only shrug and wiggle his hands.

He set the tea tray, with mismatched, but well-loved cups and a plate of rock cakes on the table between Harry and Ron. “Now then, about yer pa. Let’s see. Chaser, he was, but always playing with a snitch. And not one of those toys. ‘E bought a regulation one, claimed it and then always ‘ad it flying ‘round ‘im.”

“Claimed it?” Harry asked. He sipped his tea, burned his mouth and tried to hide the fact that he had by coughing into his elbow. Hagrid patted him on the back and nearly knocked him to the floor, though the thought was kind.

“Snitches remember the first person who touches them after they’re put in a game,” Ron said. “That way you always know which seeker caught it if there’s a scrum.”

“Tha’s right. I’m not surprised ya know so much about it. Charlie was a great seeker when ‘e was ‘ere.”

Ron’s expression soured, but he was kind enough to hide it behind a rock cake. “Tell us more about Harry’s dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11 year olds are fun to write.


	6. Chapter 6

As Harry and Ron snuck through the castle, they thought that, perhaps, staying out in Hagrid’s hut so long had been a mistake. It was past curfew and every suit of armor looked like a teacher in the darkness. The fact that they moved certainly didn’t help. Torches and antique gas lamps flickered in and out, casting dramatic, moving shadows down every hall.

“Oho, out past our bedtime, are we?” A painting of a wizened, African hunter asked. They had large, animal teeth strung on a necklace spaced out with brightly colored beads.

Harry shushed them, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. The hunter cackled and shook his spear at them as they slunk past, but true disaster didn’t strike until they reached what Sirius and Remus lovingly referred to as the Hall of Stairs. Moving staircases shifted and groaned as they changed locations, all over a giant gaping hole that went down to the deepest levels of the castle.

“I don’t know the night schedule!” Harry whispered. “And it’s too dark to see the top.”

Ron pulled out his old, battered wand and shook it to get the magic straight. He pointed it up the nearest staircase and whispered, “Lumos.” The tip lit, but then belched out bright, pink smoke that hissed and spat in the air. A loud meow echoed from the hallway behind them.

“That wasn’t Leo,” Harry said.

“Mrs. Norris!”

Footsteps louder than the smoke sounded, followed by Argus Filch’s gravelly voice. “I hear them, my dear. Students out of bed.”

Harry grabbed Ron’s wrist and dragged up the stairs. With a screech of wood on stone, the stairs lurched out of position and floated through the air to their new endpoint. The pink smoke trailed behind them until they reached the landing, so the boys hopped onto a different staircase, this one reaching diagonally across the Hall of Stairs rather than going up or down. 

They hid in the shadow of a doorway, watching Filch’s wobbling lantern ascend the stairs. He sniffed like a muggle vacuum, taking in the pink smoke. It did smell of candy floss.

Harry covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve to dampen the sound of his breathing and took in the sweet scent from the fabric. If they were caught, there would be no doubt they were the rule-breakers.

Filch paced back and forth across the landing, muttering threats and shoving his lantern into open doors. “Filthy students making a mess of my clean castle. If Headmaster Dippet were still here…”

Without taking his eyes off Filch, Harry reached back and tried the doorknob. No good. He wished Jules was there for the entire instant it took him to remember that she was pants at locking spells. She’d melted at least two doorknobs in Grimmauld Place and even though Sirius had been more than happy to replace the ugly things, it still meant she wasn’t helpful. He turned and tapped it with his wand. “Alohamora.”

But his whisper didn’t unlock it. When Ron lifted his wand, Harry shook his head. They couldn’t risk more smoke. He pressed his mother’s wand into is hands and pointed at it.

Ron nodded and tried the spell himself. “Alohamora.”

With a snickt, the lock gave way and the boys shoved themselves inside and shut the door behind. They panted and then burst into laughter muffled by their dirty sleeves. They leaned back, knocking their heads against the door.

“Phew.”

“I thought he had us for sure!”

“Thanks for letting me use your wand, mate. Mine’s a hand-me-down.” Ron didn’t say, “like everything else,” but the words hung in the air between them and pulled on the bared threads on his robes.

But before Harry could respond a growl echoed through the room, shaking them down to the bone. As one, they turned, a chill running down their spines. Three giant dog heads growled down at them from near the ceiling. The left was a pit, the middle a rottweiler and the right a German shepherd and Harry was going to kill Jules for making that the first thing he thought of.

“Cer-Cerberus!” Ron stuttered. He held out his crooked wand with a shaking hand.

Its heads growled and it lunged toward them, held back only by the heavy, magic chain attached to its collar. All three heads tossed and struggled. The fat, metal chainlinks groaned and screeched.

“I think I’ll be going to detention!” Harry yanked the door open with both hands and dashed back into the hall. With Ron on his heels, he ran to the nearest staircase leading up. They didn’t stop running until they were panting in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

She clicked her tongue at them and smoothed down the painted ruffles in her gown. “First Years getting in trouble already? I know you have a family reputation to maintain Mr. Potter, but really?”

“Sorry,” Harry muttered before remembering he had to say the password to get in. Exhausted from their sprint up, they dragged their weary feet up into their dorm. “What was that doing there?”

“I don’t know.” Ron looked meaningfully at the three other beds. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

—-

Sunday afternoon the five friends settled into one of the large, heavy tables in the library. Clover sat outside the door, occasionally whining and wagging her tail, which never stopped being uncanny with her cat-illusion. Harry and Ron recounted their adventure on the third floor with handwaving and dramatic in-seat lunges that almost sent them tumbling to the floor. Luckily a group of seventh years getting a head start on their NEWTs sat between them and Madam Pince.

“Well, I don’t know what it’s doing there, but that explains what Dad was cross about this summer.” Jules leaned back in her chair until only two legs were on the floor. Her potions textbook was open on the table in front of her with a blotchy, smeared parchment. “He’d never allow a Cerberus near students. I’m surprised he didn’t call a meeting of the school governors.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to deal with Draco’s dad,” Tracey suggested. They put their heads together and laughed. “He’s always bragging about telling his father this or that.”

“Why keep it in the third floor corridor, though?” Hermione asked. “Care of Magical Creatures has all sorts of enclosures in the north courtyard. I read about it Hogwarts, A History.”

“You don’t have to cite your sources,” Harry and Jules said at the same time. She reached across the table and shoved his shoulder.

Tracey and Ron looked at them like they’d each grown an extra head. “What the..?”

“Bloody hell, what does that even mean?”

They glanced at each other and shrugged. Harry said, “I don’t know. Sirius always says that Remus when he says where he learned something. He writes textbooks.”

Hermione fixed her posture and straightened her parchment on the table in front of her. “Citing your sources just means saying where you found a piece of information. It’s very important to academic papers.” She pointed to the bottom of her parchment where page numbers and other book titles were written almost too small to read.

“Oh, well that’s boring.” Jules scrunched up her nose. “I don’t think any of the professors really need that. They know what’s in the books.”

Hermione mimed how Jules always tossed her hair over her shoulder. “That’s why I’ll be the top of our year and you won’t.”

The Slytherins shared a look that could only be described as conniving, but said nothing else about it. Harry didn’t think they would sabotage Hermione’s work, but whatever it meant couldn’t be good.

Jules wrote a line on her homework and frowned at it. “There are supposed to be classrooms on the third floor, too, but it’s just blank hallway and the door with the Cerberus. My source is that I lived here when I was little.” She met Hermione’s eyes and looked a second away from sticking her tongue out.

“So there must be more than just the dog,” Ron said. His own parchment had messy writing with the letters nearly an inch tall to fill in the space. “But the room wasn’t that big.”

“There could be another door on the other side of the Cerberus. Or just a false wall. There a ton of those in Grimmauld Place.”

“Hmm.”

They worked silently, each imagining why the Cerberus might be in the castle. Tracey broke the silence by pointing at Jules’ homework. “You’re writing in French again.”

“Oh bugger, Snape would like that, wouldn’t he?” Jules ran her wand over the lines and they disappeared. “He and Dad don’t really get on-”

Ron dropped his quill. “Does your dad get on with anyone?”

Harry laughed and Jules blushed hard enough that it was obvious even with her dark skin. “The students like him! And OWL and NEWT scores for DADA are at all-time high!” She crossed her arms over her chest, dragging a line of ink across her shirt with her quill. “Certainly better than when Dumbledore was teaching it.”

“He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Hermione asked. “I thought he was a transfiguration master.”

“Dad’s mentioned it a few times, but I could be wrong, I guess.” Jules pulled on a lock of hair. “My dad had him as a transfiguration teacher when he attended. He was a few years ahead of Professor McGonagall.”

Tracey narrowed her eyes, with her lips slightly parted. She leaned close to Jules. “Ahead?  _ Ahead? _ You’re saying that Professor Silver Fox Fontaine is older than McGonagall?”

Jules gagged and covered her ears and turned away from her housemate. “Don’t call him that! He’s my dad!”

“He is attractive, Jules. Even Remus says so and he thinks it’s rude to comment on someone’s appearance.”

Ron smirked. “When I wrote Mum about meeting you, she said the same thing.”

“Ew, no, stop it!”

“Well some people clearly like your dad.”

“Harry, don’t you start, too, or I’ll tell them about all of the times Sirius got asked out when we were little!” 

Harry paled at the threat and held his hands up in mock surrender.

They all laughed. Tracey helped get the stain off of Jules’ shirt and Hermione started checking everyone’s homework. Even Ron’s parchment only got a sigh and “I suppose it’ll do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These crazy kids are fun.
> 
> Anyone know a nice community discord for HP?


	7. Chapter 7

Harry and his friends didn’t discuss the third floor or the Cerberus again until flying lesson that Thursday. Wind whipped at their robes. The five of them shifted down the line of brooms in a huddle, everyone talking while Harry and Ron selected the best brooms of the lot.

“Marcus Flint, that’s the captain of our quidditch team, he said that his family used to have a Cerberus at their ancestral manor,” Jules said. Her hair was a mass of tiny plaits braided together with silver cord. It would be ruined in twenty minutes of flying and Harry felt bad for Qing-ru’s hard work.

Ron glanced up from the broom in his hands, a Cleansweep, to roll his eyes at her. “Yeah, well the Weasleys had a dragon in the fourteenth century. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“My dad tried to bond with a phoenix,” Harry said.

“None of that explains why there’s a Cerberus in the castle, though.” Hermione kept them on topic, probably because looking at the brooms made her look sick. “In traditional mythology they were known as guardians, but the castle has the best defenses in Great Britain, after Gringotts.”

“Well Gringotts was broken into over the summer,” Tracey said with a shrug.

“What?!” The others chorused. 

“Pucey was talking about it with Farley over breakfast the other day. Their parents were thinking of moving some of their heirlooms. Nothing was stolen, though. Whomever it was broke into an empty vault.”

Before they could discuss it any further, Madam Hooch arrived and instructed them to each stand by a broom. Harry set the nicest one next to Hermione and then Jules and Tracey flanked her on either side.

Across the way, with the second row of brooms, Draco Malfoy sneered at them. He made a comment about mingling with mudbloods and blood traitors, but everyone ignored him. Madam Hooch spoke over the muttering students easily, her voice trained from countless quidditch matches. She wasted no time on introductions. “Put your hand over your broom, yes, like that, Miss Brown. On the count of three, I want everyone to say ‘Up’ loud and clear. One, two, three, up!”

Ron’s leapt into his hand like an eager puppy, though the uneven tail bristles made it hover lopsided in the air. Harry hadn’t actually commanded his broom and pretended to do it for a second time, so it didn’t look too easy. Tracy got hers in hand on her second try, for real. Jules alternated between pouting and scowling at hers, as it wiggled reluctantly on the ground like a cat. Hermione’s didn’t seem to notice she was there.

Once Jules had hers in hand, she moved behind Hermione’s shoulder. “Be firm with it, Like you’re telling Ron to do his own work.”

“Hey!”

Despite Ron’s protestation, on Hermione’s next attempt, the broom hopped off the ground and made it halfway to her hand before drifting back to the grass. 

Madam Hooch nodded to the class and clapped her hands. “Good, good. Now I will demonstrate the proper technique for mounting your broom.” She threw her right leg over her broom, revealing that her robes were split up the back as well as in front for easier riding. “With your wand-hand in front, grasp the handle with both hands, palms up. This is called the Cruising Grip and is what we’ll be using for this class. If you have riding experience, I expect you to perfect the Cruising Grip and help your fellows.”

When her attention split to individual students, Harry and Ron bent their heads together and showed off different quidditch grips. Jules and Hermione turned to Tracey to share frowns and eye rolls, but she was leaned half in front of Ron. She swatted Ron’s hands away. “You’re doing it wrong. The Beaters’ Sloop has tense middle and ring fingers and loose index and pinky for mid-air adjustments.”

“Tracey, why,” Jules despaired.

“Shush, Fontaine, I want decent competition for once I’m on the house team.”

“Good luck with that, Davis,” Draco said. “My father-“

“Isn’t here,” Madam Hooch interrupted. She twisted Draco’s wrist and moved his hands down the handle. “Your grip is all wrong. If you don’t take this lesson seriously you won’t be on the house team next year. All students must pass through me before they can try out.”

Harry snorted and pushed his face into his shoulder to stifle his laugh.

“Don’t think I haven’t been watching you, Potter. Let me be the first to tell you that family legacy won’t do you any favors with Minerva.” Madam Hooch’s comments silenced the low tittering and she finished checking everyone’s grips in near-silence punctuated only by glares and stuck-out tongues. She stood at the head of the lines and once again mounted her broom. “On the count of three, we’re going to kick off into a hover. With your hands in the Cruising Grip, you will kick straight down into the turf with your wand-foot.”

Hermione paled and shuffled closer to Jules.

Madam Hooch continued, “These beginner brooms are equipped with a number of safety spells. A firm ‘finite’ or releasing both hands from the handle will cause the broom to-“

But she was interrupted herself when Neville cried in shock and fear. His broom whizzed forward of its own accord, his legs flailing helplessly eighteen inches from the grass. His panic pitched him forward against the handle, which only made it fly faster.

“Longbottom! Finite! Release the handle!”

“Fin-ah! Fini- Finini- Ahh!” Neville gasped as the broom swerved toward the lone tree between the flying class and the Black Lake. Several things happened at once. His hands flew to cover his eyes, as if not seeing the danger would make it disappear. However, this made the broom stop. The broom, not the boy, who was pitched over the front. With a wail, he threw his hands forward to catch himself, scratching his nose to bleeding before catching all of his weight on his wrists.

“It’s alright, Longbottom. There’s always one.” Madam Hooch flicked her wand at the broom. It’s handle dipped, as if it was bowing, before floating sedately back to Neville’s place in the Gryffindor line. She stepped up to Neville and helped him to his feet. A tap of her wand cleaned him of dirt, but did nothing for the redness already swelling around his wrist. “Swelling a bit fast for a break. Probably just a sprain. Come along, off to the Hospital Wing. The rest of you,” her eyes narrowed like a falcon’s, “wait there and practice summoning your brooms from the ground. It’s detention for anyone whose feet leave the grass.”

Hermione dropped her broom as if it’d burned her and released all the air from her lungs in a giant whoosh. “Isn’t this a little dangerous?”

Jules nibbled on a piece of mashed toast from her pocket. “A bit, yeah, but we’ve been setting things on fire with accidental magic for years.”

Hermione opened her mouth a few times to argue, but couldn’t decide on anything to say.

“What’s this?” Draco asked. In his hand was a glass ball with red smoke swirling inside. “Longbottom forgot his Remembrall. Ironic.”

“That’s not what irony is,” Tracy snapped. “Leave it, Malfoy.”

“Yeah, give it back! That doesn’t belong to you,” Harry said. He walked up to Draco, chest-first.

“Oh, you want it, Potty? Come get it!” He threw his leg over his broom and kicked off.

“You’re shaming the house!” Jules yelled at him.

Harry was on his broom, giving chase before her words faded from the air. With his hands clenched in a Chaser Sprint, he sped after him. His grin was all Padfoot when Draco glanced over his shoulder to taunt, only to see him mere feet away and gaining ground.

With a poor attempt at the Seekers’ Launch posture, Draco tilted his broom up and shot into the air to escape. Harry used the correct Seekers’ Launch and had his hand inches from Draco’s bristles when he yowled in denial and threw the ball.

“You want it? Have it, Potty.” Draco banked his broom and then shot to the ground. They hadn’t been in the air long, but if he was lucky, he could make it to the grass before Madam Hooch returned, leaving Harry to get detention alone.

Harry sped after the Remembrall. His knuckles brushed the grass when he caught it. He hopped off his broom and landed in a run, whirling around to get back in line. Seconds later, the Great Hall doors opened and Madam Hooch stalked down the slope to them. She seemed none-the-wiser.

At least, until Professor McGonagall rushed after her and grabbed her elbow. The students couldn’t hear what was being said, but the pointing between a tower window and the flying class made it clear she’d seen everything. Both rule-breakers turned as pale as Draco’s hair. The two teachers reached the class together and looked them over in silence. 

“Potter, put your broom down and come with me.” McGonagall didn’t wait for him to comply before turning back to the castle.

As he followed his head of house, Harry heard Madam Hooch deduct five points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Eyes downcast and biting his lip, Harry sulked back into the castle.

“You will serve detention with Madam Hooch on Saturday, performing broom maintenance with Mr. Malfoy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Say goodbye to your free time, Mr. Potter.”

Harry flinched. He’d just been trying to get Neville’s Remembrall back. Why wasn’t Draco being dragged through the castle, too?

McGonagall stopped at the OWL-level charms classroom and knocked on the door. “Filius, may I borrow Wood?”

“Of course, Minerva.”

She moved out of the doorway and shut the classroom door after a fifth year with a Gryffindor tie exited. “Mr. Wood, this is Harry Potter. He caught a standard-sized Remembrall after it was thrown a good fifty feet to the ground.”

A fire appeared in Wood’s eyes. Suddenly, Harry thought the weekend detention was the least of his problems. He hadn’t seen a look that hungry since Remus figured out how to get his revenge for Sirius putting Isaac Asimov’s Itching Allure (sheep wool only) in his favorite jumper. 

“Mr. Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Your new team captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you ever made up a spell or magical product in HP 'verse? Tell me about it in the comments :)


	8. Chapter 8

The following Monday, over breakfast, Dumbledore announced that he and the heads of house had decided to revise the century-old rule prohibiting first years from owning brooms and participating on the house quidditch teams. Jules brought her plate and goblet to the Gryffindor table at lunch and sat half on Harry’s lap, half next to him. The letters JF were etched into the metal and full of gravy.

“Draco’s in rare form, I hope you know. I’m tired of hearing about it.” She scraped beans onto her toast and more appeared in the void before the gravy had even settled.

“What’s he got to complain about?” Ron grumbled with his mouth full of beans on toast. “Trials are still open, aren’t they?”

“Something, something he shouldn’t have to wait for his parents to send his broom. Something, something, not fair that the rule got changed for Harry. Blah, blah, how come he wasn’t appointed to the Slytherin team.”

“Because your team doesn’t have any vacancies?” Fred or George asked. The twins appeared on the opposite side of the table, shoving Hermione and Neville to either side.

“Dad doesn’t appoint anyone, anyway. He couldn’t care less about quidditch. He just does his marking during practice, so he can keep them out of trouble. No matter how long he’s been head of house, people keep telling our team they should cheat because we’re Slytherins. Bollocks to that. As if we needed to cheat.” Jules took a vicious bite of her toast and wiped up the gravy going down her chin. 

“Are you going to try out, then?”

“We’re beaters, you know.”

“But for Gryffindor, of course.”

Jules rolled her eyes and shook her head, barely keeping her long hair out of her plate. “I don’t care about quidditch, either.”

“You also couldn’t throw straight if your life depended on it.”

“Harry!”

“It’s true.”

Jules and Harry stuck their tongues out at each before she threw her silverware on her plate. It rang like a bell and then cleared. Ron picked up her plate and tilted it from side to side, checking the underside and the engraving. He held it over his, comparing the sizes. “How come you have a special plate?”

One of the twins snatched the plate and held it an inch from his eye. The other took a plate from a fifth year too distracted with her book to notice and held it next to Jules’. “You do have a special plate.” He tapped it with his wand, but nothing happened.

“That’s what I just said,” Ron said.

Jules grabbed her plate and stuck it in her lap. “I have to eat a special diet, alright? Bloody hell.” She blushed hard enough that it showed against her dark skin. “Forget about my plate; it’s almost Hermione’s birthday.”

Hermione sunk in her seat and tried to hide behind her hair. “How did you know that? I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Mine’s at the end of the month. We’re birthday buddies! Anyway, if you see everyone being sneaky, just ignore it for a few days.” Jules grinned, showing off far too many teeth for it to seem completely innocent.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Hermione ineffectually pushed her hair away from her face. “It’s fine. No one at school ever really gets me anything.” Her voice shrank with each word to near-silence when the Weasley twins howled at the injustice of it.

“We can’t have that, Gred.”

“Definitely not, Feorge.”

“When’s your birthday, Jules?” Harry asked before Hermione could melt into the table. Remus had taught him to pull attention away from people who were feeling bad.

“Did you forget? We’ve been friends forever!”

He raised both eyebrows at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. It’s the thirtieth. Papa will do the thing through you.”

“What thing?” Ron leaned across Harry to get a better look at Jules.

“You’ll find out! I’m not going to spoil the surprise for Hermione!”

Before Hermione could completely dissolve in embarrassment, the bell rang. Jules tossed her plate on the table and mussed Harry’s hair before dashing off to rejoin her housemates. She didn’t see the Weasley twins smuggle her plate and dripping goblet into their bags. Harry met Hermione’s eyes. They could stop the twins, or tell a teacher. 

With her heavy bag over one shoulder, she walked in step with him. “As much as she deserves it, I don’t want Jules getting sick.”

“I never heard about a special diet before and she’s stayed at my house loads of times.” Harry shrugged. If it was so important, Jules wouldn’t just eat off a regular plate, so he wasn’t worried.

“Why else would she have a special plate, then?”

Harry didn’t have an answer for that, so they continued to class in silence.

—-

Kassandra dropped a purple envelope with silver accents and gold ink on Harry’s bed. He scratched her under her chin, called her pretty and thanked her for the delivery before letting her out of the window.

“What’s that?” Neville asked.

“Hermione’s birthday present.” Harry pulled several pieces of parchment out of the unsealed envelope and laid them out on his nightstand. One was purple and the same silky texture as the envelope. In gold ink was a birthday message in Jules’ blocky handwriting. Half of it was in French, though it just said hair-care products were stupid. Harry put his second-best quill on it. “On this page we write something nice.”

A small, red envelope with the Chinese characters for “Good Fortune” - some of the few Harry recognized - came out next. He dug a sickle out of his pocket and stuck it in the envelope. The closing flap licked its edges and belched. “This you put in money or like, ‘This ticket gives you one homework help session with me.’”

“I don’t think she’s the one that needs help with her homework,” Dean said.

Harry spit his annoyance out with a sound and some spit. “I was just making an example. Anyway, on this last page, you put a tick next to which item you think she’d like best. Then, on her birthday, Qing-ru and Professor Fontaine will send the one with the most votes.”

“That’s really nice. Do they do this for all of the students?”

“No. It’s just because Hermione is Jules’ friend.”

Dean and Seamus locked eyes and silently had a conversation weighing the merits of such a gift versus being friends with Jules. Both boys’ faces ended on disgust and they shook their heads.

Ron scribbled, ‘Thanks for the help, even if you’re a little swotty.’ He jumped back when the ink transformed from black to gold to match the writing already on the page. “Well that’s clever, isn’t it?”

“Qing-ru dyes and spells the paper himself,” Harry said, unreasonably proud. “He let us try it one time for Easter. My hands were blue for days.”

Neville picked up the envelope and turned it over in his hands. “My gran would love this kind of stationary. Does he sell it?”

“You could ask.” Harry shrugged.

All of the blood drained from Neville’s face and he dropped the envelope as if it burned him. “N-nevermind.”

“Is Professor Fontaine all,” Seamus waved his arms around and made whooshing noises, “at home, too?”

“Not really. He’s either loving his family or complaining about the Ministry. He has a board where he pinned all of his fines for using magic carpets.”

The boys abandoned the birthday package and gave Harry their full attention. “Have you ridden on a magic carpet?”

Harry pulled on his sleeves. “Just a little around their grounds. It’s big. It fit all of us and Sirius and Remus. It’d fill up the whole dorm. It’s nothing like flying on a broom. It’s kind of like a muggle rollercoaster, I guess?”

“What’s a rollercoaster?”

“Uh…” 

Dean and Seamus came to Harry’s rescue, explaining about muggle fairs and carnivals and the huge, metal, death traps, as Remus called them. Sirius and his dad had gone on one when they were sixteen. It had become a yearly ritual for Sirius to find the best one for them to ride one. They’d even gone to Disney Paris after Harry spent an entire weekend with the Fontaine’s speaking only French.

“And muggles just do that for fun? Without any magic?” Neville bit the meat of his palm. “What if they fall? Are there pillows or anything?”

“No, just concrete. Maybe a decorative bush.” Harry scratched his cheek. He hadn’t considered falling before. Sirius and Remus were always right there to catch him with spells.

“That’s horrible! And Hermione says brooms are dangerous!”

“I was eating at a muggle pub once and this bloke ordered a drink that was on fire. In a muggle pub! It was real fire, too. His mates were cheering him on. I thought he was going to lose his beard.”

The boys sat in a circle on the floor, Hermione’s gift forgotten. They exchanged stories of dangerous muggle things like they were ghost stories. Ron had heard of skydiving from Charlie, but wasn’t sure if learning about the parachute made it more or less believable. Neville turned green and clutched his stomach at just the thought of bungee jumping.

“My uncle tossed me out of a window when I was a kid. I hadn’t done any accidental magic and he was afraid I was a squib. Why would anyone do that for fun!”

“Muggles are mad,” Harry said to a round of nods. “Sirius has a muggle motorbike that he enchanted. It’s covered in protection and cushioning charms and Remus still doesn’t let him ride it too fast.”

“He definitely rides it too fast anyway, doesn’t he?”

“Only on special occasions.” His godfather got in his fair share of trouble, but at the end of the day, he loved and respected Remus too much to put himself in danger needlessly.

They talked late into the night. Dean and Ron had to pick Neville up and drop him on his bed after he fell asleep on the floor. It wasn’t the first time Harry had stayed up far too late, but it was different with his dorm mates. Maybe because Jules was a girl. Or maybe because there were more of them, but it was nice. He wouldn’t trade Jules, of course, but both was good, as Sirius liked to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I've been busy lately. I hope it was worth the wait :)
> 
> Jules, why _do_ you have a special plate? 🤔 You changed the subject awfully fast.
> 
> Also, children are hilarious to write. What muggle items do you think Neville and Ron would find most horrifying?


	9. Chapter 9

Quidditch ate up all of the time Harry wasn’t in class or detention. His housemates knew about the month of detentions that accompanied the rule change, but the other houses didn’t take it nearly so well. Slytherin, minus Jules and Tracey, took every opportunity to thank him for their team’s new Nimbus 2000s. Though this did make Draco turn hilarious shades of purple, since he wasn’t getting the credit despite his father having paid for the brooms.

He’d spoken up once, loud and in the middle of the Great Hall, only for an older Ravenclaw to comment that he shouldn’t be so proud of needing to buy his way onto the team. Draco settled for glaring over lips as thin as Professor McGonagall’s.

Sirius congratulated him in a long letter. It was a single paragraph of praise and two pages of rules that he and Harry’s father had had added rather than removed. Remus’ spidery handwriting was squished into the margins, explaining that it wasn’t a challenge, please don’t break anymore rules and please do learn from his detentions. Professor Fontaine sent a note that said, “I trust you will do better in the future.” Qing-ru sent a magical photograph of his own face raising a single, disappointed eyebrow over and over.

Jules nearly peed herself laughing when she saw.

“Remind me to show you the wall of disdain when you visit,” Jules commented to Hermione and Ron once she recovered.

Hermione’s eyebrows were so scrunched together, it was like they were trying to merge into one. She chewed her bottom lip as if she were the one receiving the deluge of disappointment. “Do I really want to see it?”

“Yes,” Jules said at the same time Harry said, “No.”

Ron leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m not going to visit your snooty, Slytherin house.” He exchanged stuck-out tongues with Jules.

“Papa loves making those photos whenever someone does something bad. I have a bunch he sent to Remus and Sirius, too.”

“He doesn’t send them anymore, though,” Harry said. “Not since Sirius used one to spell his face onto the Christmas tree topper.”

Tracey hit the table with both fists, ignoring Madam Pince’s glare. “Bring it! You can’t say that and not show us!”

“I’ll grab it over break. Remus won’t want me to show you, but Sirius will definitely let me. I’ll just have to be sneaky.”

Jules spent the rest of the study session giggle-snorting over the picture of her father. 

They didn’t make any progress on the mystery of the third floor right corridor. The last time they discussed it, the girls had gotten into a heated argument - Jules ready to throw fists - over whether or not ‘right-corridor’ was a meaningless term. They used a lot of words like perspective and ‘means of ingress’, which evolved into shouting in French when Ron tried to break it up by saying he didn’t understand.

The ability to speak French was Tracy’s worst quality because it meant the girls insisted on practicing - or just speaking in Jules’ case - all of the time. Even Ron was learning words despite himself, if only so they would keep helping him with his Potions and Transfiguration homework. Jules even cruelly wrote to Remus about it, who had since written his letters exclusively in French.

It was only by bribing Jules with rice candy that he got her to agree to no French on holidays. He didn’t mention that he’d only gotten the rice candy because Qing-ru asked him to give it to her, but if her father didn’t know he was going to use it for his own ends, he hadn’t been paying attention.

Halloween dawned as a relief for his sweet-deprived stomach and his French-muddled throat. It was almost as relaxing as when he woke up on the last day of muggle primary school and realized he’d never have to do maths again if he didn’t take arithmancy. Ron took advantage of the freedom by pronouncing as many French loanwords as Englishly as possible.

“Do you like ball-et, Hermione? I bet your parents give each other car-ty blah-chi to watch that kind of swotty stuff.”

This set off his brothers, who knew far more French loanwords, or who misunderstood the game and were just making up words. Harry wasn’t fluent enough to tell and he was laughing too hard to really try, either. He only nibbled on his toast as he listened. When they were five, Jules had regaled him with stories about the Halloween feast at Hogwarts and he’d been impatiently waiting to taste it himself.

When he was eight, he barred the front door with all of the fancy dining room chairs to keep Remus from leaving. He’d sat precariously on the last one and crossed his arms, and legs, too, for good measure. “You can’t go to work.”

“Harry. I’m going to be late. I only work three days this week. And I’ll be back in time for tea.” He kissed Harry’s forehead to no avail.

“Jules said the astronomy teacher is sick. You need to take her job, so we can move to Hogwarts and I can have the Halloween feast, too.”

“Harry, it’s not that easy. First, I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Second, I’m a werewolf-“

“No you’re not!” Harry had tumbled off the chair, then, though Remus caught him and set him gently on the floor. Remus knelt and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry wasn’t finished. “You’re not. You’re a kind, gentle, best dad who has a bad curse.”

At eight, Harry hadn’t understood Remus’ tears. He only sort of understood them at eleven, but it had sort of worked. Remus didn’t go to work that day. Instead he helped Harry put the chairs back and then took him to the zoo to talk to the snakes and have something the muggle ice cream shop called a ‘dirt and worms sundae’ that he really should propose to Mr. Fortesque some time. The sundae had wiped all thoughts of the Halloween feast away for a few months, but on Halloween 1991, it was all he could think of.

Lit jack-o-lanterns were hung throughout the atrium and Great Hall. Live bats that Professor McGonagall said were transfigured from black crepe paper. Both of Harry’s knees bounced so high with excitement that he hit the bottom of the Gryffindor table. Across the hall, he met Jules’ eyes and they exchanged silent screams and an air high-five.

“It’s just Halloween, Harry,” Ron grumbled. 

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Ronnikins,” one of the twins said.

“Jules said that Hogwarts celebrated Samhain until the 1930’s when America started mass producing costumes and exporting commercial Halloween goods,” Hermione said. She had a thick book open on her lap. “I can’t find anything about either in Hogwarts, A History, though.”

Ron stood up and beat both fists against the table, his cheeks as bright red as his hair. “That’s it! It’s always Jules-this and Jules-that! You have real friends now; you don’t need her anymore!”

Before Harry could say anything, Ron was halfway to the door. Like it had at the welcoming feast, the food appeared on the platters in the center of the table. Harry gave the steaming potatoes a longing glance and ran after Ron. He crashed into Professor Kettleburn on his way into the atrium. “Sorry, sir!” 

He sprinted to the nearest staircase, where he saw a flash of red disappearing. “Ron, wait!”

On the second floor, Ron’s sleeve caught on a bannister. Though it tore with a shriek, it slowed him down enough for Harry to catch up. He grabbed Ron’s arm, but instead of pulling him to a stop, they both slid on the floor. They fell with a crash and a splash, landing in a tangle of limbs.

“Bloody hell!”

“Why is the floor wet?”

“Eugh, it’s bathroom water!” Ron said, pointing to the door of the girls’ restroom where another flood of water was seeping from under the door.

“Eww.” Harry shook his arms, throwing drops of water around the hall. “Come on. Let’s go back to the feast. I’m sure Professor McGonagall can clean us up.”

Ron sat cross-legged on the wet floor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Only if you promise to stop talking about Jules.”

“I’m not going to! She’s my friend, too. How would you feel if I told you to stop talking about Quidditch?”

“That’s different!”

Jules and Tracey sprinted towards them. “Get up, we have to go!”

Harry blinked, but scrambled to his feet. “What’s going on?” Since the girls had broken his focus on Ron, he could suddenly hear screams and crashing footsteps.

“There are acromantula in the castle! At least two!” Tracey said.

Ron didn’t move. “Acromantula? What are those?”

“Spiders.” Jules grabbed Ron by the arm and dragged him to his feet. “Giant spiders!”

All the blood left Ron’s face. He looked past Tracey toward the stairs and saw a giant, hairy, leg.

He fainted.

Harry helped Jules keep him off the floor. Together, they dragged him into the flooded bathroom. Tracey shut the door behind them.

“What are you doing in here?” The ghost of an older girl in a Hogwarts’ uniform floated through one of the stall doors. Harry nearly fainted himself.

“Not now, Myrtle!” Tracey shoved her way past the ghost and opened the stall door. “Get him in here before the acromantula gets in.”

Jules dropped Ron on the toilet seat, then left the stall, shutting the other three inside. 

“Jules, what are you doing? You’re gonna get killed!” Harry beat his fist against the door. When he heard the bathroom door open, Harry redoubled his effort. “Tracey, help me!”

“Why would you lead that in here?” The ghost wailed. “That’s what killed me! Why would you bring it back? Why is everyone so mean to me?”

Between Myrtle’s shouts and their own pounding on the stall door, Harry couldn’t hear whatever spell Jules cast. All he knew was that the eight little splashes from the acromantula’s legs were replaced by one, large splash. He peeked under the door and around Jules’ legs. The giant spider was dead on the floor of the bathroom.

Silence claimed the bathroom, broken only by their harsh pants. Another splash nearly scared Harry out of his glasses. “What was that?”

“Probably Myrtle going into the u-bend to sulk,” Tracey said. She patted Ron’s cheek, trying to wake him up.

The bathroom door opened again and Jules pressed her back against the stall door.

“Miss Fontaine! What are you doing in here? The students were ordered to their common rooms!”

“I was using the loo and then that- that thing appeared!” She kicked under the stall door, hitting Harry in the shoulder. When he tried to open it, she didn’t move, blocking him in.

“On the second floor… Miss Fontaine?” Snape’s voice sounded as oily as his hair.

“I’m having girl troubles! Do you need to see my pants as proof?” Jules’ raised her voice in a dramatic crescendo. She started crying and it was only thanks to years of experience that Harry knew she was faking.

“Come here, Miss Fontaine. Let’s get you to your father and down to your common room,” Professor McGonagall said. “Silvanus, can you get rid of this?”

“O-of course, Minerva.”

Ron came to just as the door was closing behind Professor Kettleburn and the dead acromantula. “Wh-what happened?”

“You fainted,” Tracey said. “And then Jules kept us out of trouble for not being in our common rooms, so you’d better be grateful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What excuse would you use if caught in the second-floor bathroom? 🤔


End file.
